Sed and Det
by Jiago Brandtail
Summary: Sed and Det live in a marsh. The ferret and the weasel are still not sure if there is a vermin fort behind them, if Marshank is cursed or if Redwall's newest warrior is telling the truth at all.
1. Chapter 1

It was a foggy morning over the marshes to the North of Mossflower. The wetlands had grown over the seasons into a wide plain dotted with water holes, muddy embankments and islands covered in scrub and reeds. It would be an impressive sight, but a thick morning mist hung over the marshes. The sun was a mere white circle in the fog.

A lone figure stood in the marsh. He was a scrawny ferret, up to his ankles in water besides a wet earthy bank. He held a spear upright, a damp brown cloak fastened around his neck. His gaze was blank, bored and uninterested by the misty waters. His chipped ears did not even twitch at the sound of paws squelching through the mud to meet him.

"Oi. Sed. It's the mornin' watch." A weasel materialised out of the gloom, coming to stand besides the ferret. He stuck his spear down into the mud besides Sed's. The weasel wore a similar brown cloak, which hung loose about his starved body.

"Mornin', is it, Det?" Sed enquired hoarsely.

"They said the sun was up," Det replied in a passive tone.

"Where?"

"The usual spot. Can't you see it?"

"I'll go blind."

"Ah." The two stood silently, listening to the quiet dripping of the moist reeds overhanging the embankment.

"Shall I relieve you?" Det asked casually.

"Not your business," Sed snapped.

"Of duty, Sed."

"I'll stay 'ere. The mud 'elps my paws."

"It's muddy inside, you know."

"Too many pebbles inside."

"What's wrong with your paws anyway?"

"A delicate an' precarious condition of sensitive paws," Sed enunciated, getting his tongue slowly around the long words. Det paused.

"Sed, I was told to relieve you."

"Of duty?"

"Of duty," Det confirmed.

"By who?"

"Them. Inside."

"The big one? The stoat?"

"Aye, 'im. Others, too."

"Vermin?" Sed asked distastefully.

"Disgustin' vermin," Det replied, spitting into the swamp.

"Positively revoltin'." Sed lingered in silence.

"Are they not dreams, then?" He proposed timidly.

"Are what?"

"That maligned stoat an' his 'ideous followers!"

"They're real enough," Det shrugged.

"I haven't seen 'em since… yesterday. Where did I see 'em?"

"In a dream?" Det suggested.

"No! The fort. The wooden fort with red paint across the gates. That stinkin' vermin infested pit of sludge," Sed hissed.

"The one behind us?" Det looked at Sed. The ferret looked back at the weasel.

"There is a red painted sludge pit behind us?" Sed queried, raising his fuzzy eyebrows.

"I don't know."

"Well, look behind you, Det."

"I'm too scared, Sed," Det quavered, his eyes staring into Sed's.

"One of us has to look."

"You do it."

"I'm rooted to this spot in abject 'orror, my dear Det."

"So… we both look. Together."

"As one?"

"As one!"

"Like comrades facin' down the enemy?"

"The very image of heroes!" Det exclaimed. Sed contemplated Det's idea. He nodded, satisfied.

"You are a brave weasel, Det. On three."

"On three," Det nodded.

"One. Two. Three!' Both beasts spun around, water rushing past their legs. They froze in silence. They saw nothing but a muddy bank and mist.

"It's gone," Sed theorised.

"Gone? I just came from there."

"So you claim. I didn't see you come out of no fort."

"I remember it."

"I remember the sun. It isn't here this mornin' either, Det."

"The fog."

"The what?"

"The fog must be blockin' our view, Sed." Sed sniffed.

"The mist, I prefer to call it," he corrected.

"Well?"

"It's an interestin' possibility." The two beasts turned back to staring blankly over the water. There was silence.

"Sed?"

"Aye, my dear Det?"

"You know what that stoat's name is?"

"Brandtooth? Threetail?" Sed guessed wildly.

"Thricebrand," Det gently reminded the ferret.

"So?"

"So, if you don't know 'im, why you followin' 'is orders?"

"Thricebrand 'as orders for me?"

"Not as such at this particular juncture in time," Det said, trying to use as many big words as his friend.

"What are you talkin' about then?"

"Why are you guardin' 'is fort?"

"The existence of said structure is still in debate, Det," Sed growled.

"Oi! All I'm sayin' is, what're you doin' 'ere if you don't like 'im?" Det asked gently.

"The marsh does me good."

"Lovely location."

"Foul dump of mush," Sed contradicted flatly.

"You could leave."

"Are you tellin' me to leave 'ome, Det?" Sed barked angrily. The weasel stood back, raising his paws apologetically.

"No! I'm sorry, Sed." Sed shifted uncomfortably. There was a pause.

"I'm sorry too, Det. That was an overreaction."

"It's only natural."

"Still. On my part, I should 'ave better controlled my emotions. I just couldn't bear leavin'. Where would I go?"

"South?" Det suggested.

"Is that the better direction?"

"It's a fair choice. Better than East."

"What's your predisposition against East?"

"Marshank."

"Marshank?"

"Ugly ruin," Det said darkly.

"Whose ruin?"

"I don't know. They say it's cursed though. Any vermin what enters it dies."

"They again? The stoat? Thrice…"

"Thricebrand. Aye, that lot say it's cursed."

"'An' you 'ad the honour of actually seein' Marshank?"

"No."

"You know some beast who 'as?"

"Not as such."

"So 'ow do they know about a curse?"

"They might 'ave visited. I don't guard them all day."

"I think there's a logical flaw in your theory, my dear Det," Sed announced to the reeds.

"Sed, I don't know logic."

"You see, Det," Sed pressed on, "in order for vermin to become acquainted with the nature of this curse, they would 'ave 'ad to 'ave died in order to produce satisfactory results. Therefore, no vermin can ever prove your theory."

"Unless it was a test carried out by woodlanders," Det offered. Sed gave him a long, hard look.

"Very good, Det." The two paused, staring at each other.

"Your face is puffy, Det."

"Sorry, I must 'ave let some beast punch it again, Sed."

"You've got to stand up to 'em."

"They give me food."

"Aye, me as well. Bread an' ale."

"Nonsense. Cheese an' water." Sed looked at the weasel in alarm.

"Moist cheese? In the marshes?"

"It keeps mostly dry."

"It's poisonous. Don't eat it."

"Cheese is poison?"

"Moist cheese. Every beast knows that."

"Perhaps I want to be poisoned?"

"I won't let you, Det. We're goin' to die of worms, just like any other decent ferret."

"I'm a weasel, Sed."

"You're an honourary ferret."

"I love bein' honourary, Sed."

"I know. I'm too kind." The two friends smiled at each other. There was quiet. Det turned his head to gaze out over the pond.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sed, I see woodlanders." Sed jerked his head up. Dark shapes were emerging from the dim wetlands. The ferret could see a mouse and a hedgehog, helping each other towards where he stood in the muddy shallows.

"Oi, there!" Sed called. The travellers stopped abruptly.

"Who goes there?" Det challenged.

"Malcolm the Warrior and a friend!" the mouse called back. The two woodlanders trudged through the shallows, their simple tunics sopping wet. The mouse stood before the guards, his paw resting on the hilt of his engraved sword.

"Who are you?" Malcolm demanded.

"Sediment. This is Detritus. Sed and Det," Sed replied.

"Who do you work for?"

"I'm not workin'. I'm 'ere for my paws," Sed explained.

"I'm not workin' either," Det hastily added, "I'm 'ere on an unofficial capacity."

"Though you was relievin' me, Det?" Sed asked, sounding hurt.

"I 'aven't relieved you yet, Sed."

"True." There was a pause.

"So… is there a fort just beyond here?" Malcolm asked cautiously. Det drew in a deep breath. Sed tilted his head.

"It's subject to discussion, actually," he responded. Malcolm blinked.

"What?"

"Well, we can't see no fort," Det supplied. Malcolm frowned.

"You must surely know where you live, though?"

"I remember sleepin' in one. Don't mean it's there today," Det reasoned.

"Are you from the South?" Sed interjected.

"The South? I suppose. I come from Redwall Abbey."

"What about your silent friend there?"

"Oh, Quilter? He doesn't talk to strangers." The hedgehog nodded and smiled nervously at the mention of his name.

"Strange logic," Sed mused.

"What you thinkin', Sed?" Det enquired.

"I'm thinkin' they're strangers, so by their own logic we can't speak to 'em. Only problem is, that sort of logic means we'd never talk to no beast ever again."

"Frightful thought."

"Terrible, Det. Can't go travellin' to Redwall Abbey in silence." There was a short silence.

"Y-you're going to Redwall?" Quilter piped up nervously. Sed grinned at the short hog.

"So, we're not strangers no more?"

"I guess not, sir," Quilter replied politely.

"Det 'ere suggested goin' South."

"Only in the event that our present conditions were unsatisfactory," Det hastened to add.

"Listen to me!" Malcolm shouted over the two of them. Sed curled his footpaws in the mud and scowled.

"I'm looking for a friend of mine. A squirrel called Rufjak. Do you know him?" Malcolm enunciated slowly and clearly.

"Oh, first we were lookin' for forts, now we're lookin' for tree-jumpers," Det grumbled, frustrated. He folded his arms, shivering at the damp cold fur pressed against his chest.

"Have you?" Quilter questioned.

"I 'aven't, I only just got 'ere myself. Ask Sed, 'es been standin' in the mud all night," Det shrugged.

"Not totally true, Det. I lay down for a rest on the bank."

'You slept in the mud?"

"Better than mud with pebbles in."

"You could 'ave drowned, Sed."

"It was always an option, Det."

"Have you?" Malcolm bellowed at the two vermin.

"Not yet, my dear Malcolm. Drownin's a frightfully unclean business," Sed mused, wiping his brow of moisture.

"As is sleepin' in mud."

"That's the lesser of the two evils, Det."

"The squirrel," Malcolm hissed, grinding his teeth.

"Maybe. Our chief keeps many slaves," Sed reasoned.

"Only a few, Sed. It's not a big fort."

"True, it seems quite miniscule from where I'm standin'."

"You vermin are really winding me up," Malcolm stated tersely.

"Vermin! 'Ow do you like that, Det?"

"Bloody cheek, Sed."

"We're a class below vermin."

"I'd call it the sub-vermin level."

"Above frogs, in the general 'ierarchy of all nature."

"We're leaving," Malcolm announced in a snarl. He grabbed Quilter's paw and moved to brush past Det.

"You can't," Det snapped, shoving him back.

"Why not?" Malcolm asked, infuriated. His paw tightened around his sword's handle.

"We 'aven't exchanged pleasantries," Det proclaimed.

"What for?"

"Common courtesy, scum. 'Ow do you do?" Sed barked.

"I'll not answer you."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset!" Malcolm screeched in a high pitched tone.

"I was just tryin' to be a vermin to impress you," Sed explained. Malcolm paused, trying to work that one out.

"I-I'm not doing too well, Mister Sed. I have to rescue my enslaved friend," Malcolm blurted out. There was a long pause.

"H-How do you do, then?" Malcolm asked, bemused by the two beasts.

"We're cursed," Det answered flatly. Sed made a mocking show of being alarmed.

"We 'aven't even been to Marshank yet!"

"So you're plannin' to go to Marshank, Sed?"

"I said no such thing, Det."

"It was implied!"

"You know about Marshank?" Quilter interrupted.

"Heard it's cursed!" Det said excitedly.

"I question the logic of that," Sed sniffed.

"You two could help me get into the fort," Malcolm proposed.

"Marshank?" Det asked hopefully.

"No! The fort in the marshes!" Malcolm shouted, exasperated.

"I 'ave to stay in the mud," Sed shrugged.

"All I need you to do is march us in like we're you're captives. From there we can rescue Rufjak and leave!" Malcolm planned.

"Leave to where?" Sed wondered.

"Mossflower. Back to the Abbey."

"Why should we come with you to Redwall Abbey?"

"I didn't say you were! What would two vermin be doing in an Abbey?" Malcolm roared. There was an awkward pause.

"So you want us to stay in this foul dump of mush?" Det asked disbelievingly, echoing his friend's earlier words.

"I didn't mean it like that. Go wherever you please. Just leave your horde."

"They feed me bread an' ale."

"Poison and water for me!"

"How horrid!" Quilter gasped, putting a paw to his mouth.

"So, you'd enslave and kill innocent creatures for food?" Malcolm asked angrily.

"No beast said anythin' about us keepin' slaves."

"In the fort!" Malcolm waved his paw at where he supposed the fort to be.

"On three!" Sed yelled, preparing to yet again search for the fort.

"Right you are, mate!" Det tensed up, ready to turn.

"One! Two! Three!" The two guards whirled around. The fog had not yet lifted, all they could see was the muddy slope Det had squelched down that morning. Malcolm came to stand besides Sed and Det.

"What… was that about?" Malcolm asked in a strained voice.

"No fort, my dear Malcolm. No slaves neither," Sed confidently put his muddy left paw on his hip, leaning on his spear like it was a walking stick.

"And why were you counting?"

"We were playin' at bein' heroes," Det smiled toothily, puffing out his chest.

"Look, the least you could do is tell me what your chief looks like," Malcolm said urgently. Sed and Det looked at each other, at Malcolm and finally back towards the slope.

"Tall stoat. Greyish-brown colour, brown eyes. Wears a ragged blue cloak." Sed began.

"Morbidly obese, carries a long sword. 'e wears a green tunic," Det continued.

"Long 'air, long claws an' a black tail," Sed added.

"Light-brown fur an' 'e 'as a lot of rings on his paws," Det mimed his paws covered in jewellery.

"Speaks in a voice deep enough to rival the most fearsome badger."

"'e 'as a gaze like a hawk with red eyes and blue war paint."

"Muscly arms, thick legs, and a scarred face."

"Thin weasel, wears a black robe."

"Hold on!" Malcolm cried. The guards blinked at him.

"You're describing two different beasts, the pair of you!" Quilter exclaimed.

"Who were you describin', Sed?" Det asked, bewildered.

"Thricebrand. Who were you talkin' about, Det?" Sed queried, equally puzzled.

"Thricebrand! Our weasel chief!"

"Stoat," Sed corrected.

"I thought 'e was a stoat in an honourary capacity!"

"Are you two raving mad?" Malcolm screeched.

"Well, I'm certainly very alarmed!' Sed answered tersely.

Malcolm did not even bother replying. He stalked off up the slope, Quilter trotting after him. Soon, the mouse and the hedgehog were shrouded from view by the rolling mist.


	3. Chapter 3

The two beasts stood side by side, contemplating the mud. The sun was still blotted out by the thick vapours overhead, which kept the wetlands cool.

"Will you go to Redwall Abbey, then?" Sed mumbled after a while.

"Should I not find the fort first? Let 'em know?" Det suggested.

"I think your absence denotes a general assumption that you 'ave departed."

"By that logic, the fort's absence is a general assumption that it 'as departed."

"Very good. You're learnin', Det. To think this mornin' you knew no logic at all."

"Perhaps I should ask Malcolm the way to Redwall?"

"You remember 'im too?"

"Unforgettable sort of beast. He said South at any rate."

"Off you go then."

Neither beast moved.

"I feel sick, Sed," Det groaned.

"It's the poison, Det," Sed concluded.

"Can't you 'elp me?"

"No idea 'ow."

"I feel cold, too."

"So do I. I slept in the mud."

"I sleep in mud too!"

"What do you want from me?" Sed was silent as Det sat himself down in the mud. He followed suite and huddled up to his friend for warmth.

"Are you ever goin' to relieve me of my duty?" Sed asked, annoyed.

"You're relieved, Sed."

"Thanks, Det."

"Are your paws able to walk to the Abbey?"

"I'd need fresh mud."

"It's a fair price. What do you think the Abbey's like?" Det tilted his head.

"Gorgeous. No curses to be found," Sed answered tersely.

"The climate?"

"Warm, always sunny."

"Could get too sunny. Might fry my brains." Det looked worried.

"You can cool off in the mud."

"Redwall 'as mud?"

"A private lake of it, no doubt. Fancy, 'igher class woodlanders always treat 'emselves to luxuries," Sed sneered. Det tried to copy him, but could not quite work his facial muscles into the one-sided baring of teeth.

"Alright, I'm in. When do we leave?" Det continued.

"I'll be staying."

"Why?"

"I 'ave to bury you, mate," Sed stated gravely.

"Aye. I'm still poisoned," Det remembered.

"Quite right. Sorry I didn't tell you earlier."

"No problem. Am I still goin' to Redwall?"

"Oi, if you insist. We can play at poisoners later."

"You're the best, Sed."

"Not at all, my dear Det." Sed was still fidgeting with his footpaws in the mud. The ferret and the weasel lapsed into silence once more.

"Do you believe in Redwall, Det?" Sed finally broke the silence.

"Believe in it? Why shouldn't I?" The weasel replied.

"We 'aven't seen it."

"Aye, but I trust Malcolm."

"Why? We only met 'im briefly."

"I liked 'im. Seemed an honest beast."

"That's no basis for makin' a perilous journey after some supposed Abbey," Sed huffed.

"Why's it always got to be seein' is believin' with you?" Det shook his head unhappily.

"What other way would I know anythin' was real or not?"

"You could take some beast's word for it."

"Like the curse of Marshank?"

"Orright, you don't 'ave to believe everythin' beasts'll tell you. I admit a curse on Marshank is a bit far fetched. But Redwall Abbey is a reasonable thought."

"Oi. I'm 'appy enough 'ere." Sed announced boldly. Det raised an eyebrow.

"Tellin' the truth?" Det asked lightly. Sed's shoulders slumped.

"No."


	4. Chapter 4

It was nightfall before either beast stirred again. The weasel and the ferret had drifted off to sleep some time after mid-day, though time seemed nearly irrelevant in the perpetual haze. The two guards sat in the dark. Insects were calling across the pond, thriving in the reeds. Sed's ankles were still buried by soft mud. Det could not bear the silence any more.

"You remember when you was a kit?" Det began.

"When was that? Couple days ago?" Sed grunted, not really paying attention.

"Oh. I thought it was about… a hundred seasons ago?"

"More like five."

"Somewhere in between the two, then."

"Aye."

"You remember much?"

"We played at bein' corsairs."

"Corsairs is a fun one."

"Aye. I made the others walk the plank."

"Haw haw. What else?"

"Nothin'. One walked into a bog and sunk. Weren't allowed to play corsairs again." There was a pause as Det contemplated the story.

"That's mighty tragic, Sed."

"It's the lot of vermin, Det."

"We're vermin?"

"We got promoted by Malcolm."

"Awfully nice mouse," Det smiled. Sed nodded sagely. Neither moved as the sound of footpaws reached their ears. Malcolm stumbled down the muddy slope with Quilter. Both were struggling to drag the limp body of a squirrel.

"Hey! You two! Help!" Malcolm called. Sed silently counted to three with his fingers, Det watching him closely. They both turned around at the same time.

"Oi. Found your tree-jumper?" Sed enquired politely.

"Rufjak's hurt!" Quilter squealed, frantically shaking the squirrel's shoulders as the three woodlanders halted by the water's edge. Det groaned, then heaved himself up. Sed did not even bother moving.

"Rufjak's gone to the Dark Forest, Quilter," Sed solemnly proclaimed.

"No he hasn't!" Malcolm blustered. Det leant over the squirrel and laid a mucky paw on Rufjak's chest. Malcolm moved to swat him away, but thought better of it.

"Gone, mate. What did you stick 'im for?' Det pulled an arrow from between Rufjak's ribs in curiosity. Malcolm slapped it away, tears forming on his face.

"I did not stick him! You foul vermin are responsible. You cold, bloodthirsty villains! Rufjak will be avenged! I'll have Thricebrand brought to justice once and for all! And just so you know…" Malcolm paused to catch his breath before bellowing at the top of his lungs, "Your stinking vermin chief is a ferret! Not a weasel! Not a stoat! Not obese, nor muscly, nor does he have rings, scars or a blue cloak! A ferret! You… You lying scum!"

Sed and Det both froze. They gave each other a long, mutually perplexed look.

"I think I was dreamin' about a stoat," Sed realised.

"I might 'ave been thinkin' about weasels." Det looked amazed as the revelation that Thricebrand was a ferret dawned on them.

"I will return to Redwall Abbey. When I come back, Thricebrand will regret the day he enslaved and murdered gentle goodbeasts such as us! I shall free the slaves that remain imprisoned!" Malcolm vowed, holding his engraved blade aloft, "I am Malcolm the Warrior. And the warrior helps those in need," Malcolm finished on a melancholy note, mudded tears staining his face as he looked down on the body of his friend. Slowly, he sheathed the blade and began to stride away, Quilter pattering behind him, sniffing.

"Shall we go?" Det pondered.

"What? With 'im?"

"Aye, come on. We can trust a warrior."

"You'd never 'eard that word in polite conversation till today!"

"I'm tired of the marsh. You are too."

"It's my 'ome." Sed folded his arms, staring at the ground. Det sloshed through the shallows to the ferret. He drew a deep breath.

"I'm goin' then. Without you," Det said. Sed looked up, baring his teeth in fear. 

"You wouldn't."

"I am."

"Dreams! You're goin' chasin' stupid dreams again, Det. Like Marshank."

"It's not a dream this time. I can feel it. Can't you trust me, Sed?"

"I trust logic. I am rational, Det."

"Then I ain't your friend no more." Det turned and hurried to catch up to Malcolm.

"Det! No!" Sed shrieked. He wrenched his muddy paws from the mud and hissed in pain as he scrambled to his feet. He tore after Det, splashing through the scummy pond. Sed rushed at his friend and tackled him into the water. Det gurgled in surprise as he tried to wrestle with the ferret. In the dark, the two figures splashed and writhed in the foul marshes.

"Sed!" Det cried out as Sed plunged the weasel's head into the muddy water. He held him down, struggling to keep the floundering beast from rising again.

Slowly, Sed's face lost it's terrible, murderous look. He gasped and relinquished his grip. Det came to the surface coughing, eyes squinted shut. The vermin knelt in the pond in silence as neither moved.

"Sed… I… I don't think… that was very rational," Det spluttered, wiping his face with one filthy, wet paw.

"Logically… I should've let you go. What with us not bein' friends or nothin'," Sed muttered. Det paused for a moment, gazing at his companion.

"Why don't we both play at bein' illogical, Sed?' Det proposed. He stuck out his paw.

"Goin' South, Sed?" Sed stared at the paw, trembling. After a moment, he smiled.

"Redwall Abbey, Det." Sed grasped Det's paw in his own and the two heaved themselves from the marsh.

Malcolm was deep in his own thoughts when he heard the two beasts following him. He twitched and turned his head as he heard the footfalls of the vermin approach.

"What are you two doing?" He asked bluntly.

"Goin' to Redwall Abbey, myself," Sed replied just as bluntly.

"South it is, mate," Det reminded them.

"You two couldn't find your way back to your own home! What makes you think you can get to Redwall?" Malcolm argued aggressively. Sed merely scratched his head.

"The marsh was our 'ome."

"The fort! Look, the fog is clearing! See for yourselves!" Malcolm snapped. Sed and Det turned around to watch the fog swirl aside, blown by a strong Easterly wind. Sed chuckled to himself, Det just smiled contentedly. Malcolm shuddered, blinking.

"Well, ain't much left for us 'ere, my dear Malcolm. An' you did say you was goin' to 'elp those in need. I need to get to Redwall." Malcolm glared at Sed, sizing him up. The ferret's footpaws were covered in mud, as was his cloak and his sopping wet fur. Det was in no better condition. Both were underfed, their fur looking drab and unhealthy.

"Fine." Malcolm turned and stormed off. The hedgehog, weasel and ferret followed close behind.

"Oi, Malcolm. Lookin' forward to dippin' in Redwall's mud lake, I can tell you!" Sed called out.

"I don't… even know what that means," Malcolm hissed through gritted teeth. The two vermin sloshed through the wetlands, Det nearly losing himself in a particularly deep pool of water. Sed hauled his friend out by the arms and grinned.

"Come on, Det. Time to go." Det beamed in return, the two of them marching briskly after their leader.

It was a clear, starry night over the marshes to the North of Mossflower. Sed and Det were finally leaving.


End file.
